~~THE CONJURERS CHRONICLES

CHAPTER 1: AWAKENING

Warwick Masters sat outside the headmaster’s office for the second time this week. A trickle of blood flowed down the split in his lip and one of his ice blue eyes was swollen and discolored. Across from him sat the boy who had, yet again, fought by his side, Isaac Mason. Isaac sported a similar lip injury with swelling enlarging his jaw. He was working to straighten the copper wire that made up the frame of his spectacles. The two boys had been friends since they were born. Warwick was an orphan of the Midoriel/Haveland War between the kingdoms of Mankind and Elves. His mother died during childbirth and his father was killed in an Elvish ambush. Wars broke out every so often between the four kingdoms of The Calabra Congress. When the lords went to war it was the children who suffered.
Isaac’s parents were close friends of Warwick’s mother. Isaac’s father had been crippled by a missile from a catapult. He lost part of his leg at mid-calf but he had received a generous stipend for his sacrifice. When news had arrived that Warwick’s father had been killed, Isaac Senior and Esmeralda had taken him in immediately. As children of war heroes, Isaac and Warwick were accepted to the local private school on a full scholarship. The only problem was that in the last year they had gotten into fight after fight.
None of these fights had been Isaacs fault. Warwick’s temper had been very easily enflamed over the last year. No one had an explanation for why the once docile youngster suddenly became so angry at the slightest insult. He would be sitting there with Isaac when some idiots would make a snide remark and then a fight would break out. Ever the loyal best friend, Isaac would jump in and fight alongside his best friend.
“Misters Masters and Mason,” said Miss Algdenmir, the headmaster’s secretary.
Miss Algdenmir was a Dwarf, born and raised in Dümfall Fief in the kingdom of Algumez and one of two people in the town of Beech who was not of the race of Men. She was always very kind and had a beaming smile on her at all times. With the recent spike in bad behavior from the two boys they were becoming all too familiar with that pleasant smile.
Warwick and Isaac got up and filed into the office one behind the other. Headmaster Morgenstern was seated behind his desk looking at the two boys. In the usual fashion, they stood side by side in front of the desk, feet apart, and hands behind their backs. The headmaster was getting very tired of seeing them standing here in this fashion. Warwick was not a bad student but not a great one by any means. He was well and truly average. Isaac, on the other hand, was a scholar. The scrawny bespectacled boy was at the top of his class in all subjects.
“If it were within my power to expel you from this school you would have been out months ago,” Headmaster Morgenstern said through gritted teeth.
It was true. Since the boys’ fathers were war heroes, Duchess Ferny, Vassal of Borderland Fief, had ordered that, as long as they weren’t failing their subjects, they were to remain in school.
“I expect this behavior from you, Master Masters, but not from one as intelligent as yourself, Master Mason.”
In truth, Headmaster Morgenstern was not being unreasonable. In two months since the school year began the two boys had been in twelve fights. For the last six years he had no trouble with Warwick and Isaac. Year seven was a complete turnaround.
“Isaac had nothing to do with it,” Warwick said for the twelfth time in two months, “I started the fight, not him.”
Isaac looked down at the floor. Even though it was Warwick who started the fight, Isaac didn’t have to involve himself. His parents had told him this time and time again but he could never let his best friend fight by himself. Isaac was no warrior but when Warwick began throwing punches he was right there beside him throwing in a few of his own.
Headmaster Morgenstern heaved an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I have nothing left to say to you that I haven’t said twelve times already. If this behavior persists I will be writing to the Duchess and, if I have to, I will go to Borderland Manor myself and beg her to let me expel you. Now, get out of my sight!”
“Yes, Headmaster Morgenstern,” the boys said in unison.
“You are dismissed.”
They both performed a left face and walked out of the office. Waiting outside the office were three boys. The first, Adam Ristheart, had a long cut on his face. The second, Michael Felding, had his arm in a sling and his wrist was heavily bandaged. The last, Brian Felding, who was Michael’s twin brother, was slightly bruised and had cotton shoved up his nose to stop the deluge of blood. These were the boys who had had given Warwick and Isaac their injuries. They were big boys who had a history of bullying kids smaller than themselves. They had been bullying Isaac and Warwick since the day they got to school.
“Why do you let them get to you?” Isaac asked his friend once they were out of earshot, “Adam is as dumb as a post and the twins are not any smarter. You know that none of what they say is true but you just encourage them when you react like that.”
Warwick gave him non-committal shrug. Isaac grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him.
“That’s not a good enough answer,” Isaac growled through gritted teeth, “You’re my best friend, Wick. When you’re in a fight I will always have your back. I just want to be sure that when I am fighting by your side it’s not just for your petty pride.”
Warwick sighed and then continued walking. Isaac walked faster to catch up to him as he spoke.
“I don’t know,” Warwick sighed, “I used to just ignore what those idiots said. Their words didn’t even bother me. Lately, though, I have just been so angry all the time for no apparent reason. There is this seething rage boiling under the surface that I can’t seem to control. I noticed it the second day of school. You know when Michael and Brian made that comment about my mother. I normally would have kept walking but I stopped and looked at them. Then they said something else, I don’t even remember what, and I just exploded. It was the same every time someone said something I didn’t like. I just started swinging.”
“It’s just not like you, Wick,” said Isaac, “You never used to be so testy.”
“I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
When they finished their classes for the day, they walked out of the school’s main gate. The market place lay open before them. It was the beginning of the month of Hyperios, the month of trade. All tradesman from the farmers to the fisherman would be selling their goods in order to pay for any supplies they may need to continue their work. Isaac’s family were shepherds and it was time to start shearing the sheep. They would be bringing the wool to market any day to sell to the weavers and the choice lambs and sheep to the butcher. Then they would buy feed from the farmers for the winter months when there was no grass for grazing.
The market was abuzz with activity. It wasn’t very crowded yet but in the coming weeks it would be hard to move around freely. Many of the people were setting up stands to sell their wares. Others were already selling goods but business was not yet booming. Amongst the people was the other resident of Beech who was not of the race of Men; at least not entirely anyway. Alastair Gadriel, for that was his name, was a half-elf. His mother had been a member of the Men but his father had been an Elf. Before the Midoriel/Haveland War, this was a match not well looked upon but still tolerated. After the fighting broke out this was a crime on par with murder. Isaac and Warwick had been only four or five years old when Alastair’s parents were dragged from their house to be executed in the street by a mob. The only thing stopping then from killing him as well was the soldier that came to quell the riot.
Alastair was thirteen now just like they were. His physical features were mostly human except for two things. His ears were pointed just like an Elf’s and his white blonde hair that fell about his face in shaggy locks was fair. His clothes were rags that clung to his tall and thin frame. Without his parents or anyone willing to take him in, he became a beggar. He wasn’t always able to find work on the farms outside the town but when he did it put money in his pocket. His childhood home was in terrible disrepair but it was at least a place to keep the rain and snow off him. Warwick and Isaac had always been nice to Alastair. Isaac Sr. always had some work for him to do and paid him well for his help. Esmeralda always had a hot meal for him in gratitude for the work he did.
Isaac waved Alistair over in order to talk to him. Alastair saw him and walked over.
“Alastair,” he called, “Good to see you.”
“Likewise,” answered Alastair politely.
“My dad wanted me to convey a message to you. He says that we are starting the shearing and there is money to be made if you’re interested.”
Alastair’s eyes lit up with delight.
“I will be there,” he said happily, “I could definitely use the money.”
“Great,” Isaac answered.
“So, how are you, Alastair?” asked Warwick.
“Okay, I guess,” Alastair answered pushing a white lock behind a pointed ear, “Can’t complain… Well, I could but really, who would listen?”
“Definitely not me,” said an all too familiar voice, “No one cares about a halfling like you.”
They all turned to see Adam Ristheart and his cronies coming towards them. The twins sniggered at his jibe. Isaac grabbed Warwick’s arm as he took a step forward. Alastair cast his eyes downward. As a result of never being defended by anyone in his life, Alastair had no idea how to speak in his own defense.
“Get out of here, Adam,” Isaac growled.
Adam smiled wickedly and took a step forward. He wanted his pound of flesh for the injuries Warwick dealt him.
“I think that that will be quite enough, young man,” said a voice.
The voice belonged to a Dwarf in a long hooded robe. His long white beard hovered just above the ground and was tucked into his belt. He stood only four feet three inches tall but he was very round in the middle. A tall and wide brimmed pointed hat hung off his shoulders behind his back. His hands were casually clasped behind his back as he walked over to them. He was a full head shorter than the three bullies. Adam sized up the dwarf and scoffed.
“What do you want, Dwarf?”
The twins sniggered again at his words. Michael and Brian sniggered at everything their ringleader said. They were both quite stupid. The only reason they ever got into school because their parents were very rich.
“Your youth gives you a free pass this one time,” said the Dwarf disinterested, “The correct way to address me would be Wizard Goldschmied.”
Warwick, Isaac, and Alastair all stared wide eyed for two reasons. The first was the fact that a wizard stood before them; a real live wizard. The second was the Dwarf’s name: Goldschmied. Goldschmied was the name of the king of the Dwarven Kingdom of Algumez and The High King of Calabra himself. The High King of Calabra and the king of any of the four kingdoms were elected to their offices which they held for life. The Goldschmieds held three of the highest positions that anyone could hold in The Congress of Calabra: Vassal of a Fief, King of one of the Four Kingdoms, and High King of the Congress. Now, one of the members of this powerful family stood before them.
“You are in The Kingdom of Haveland so your name means nothing to us, Dwarf.”
Adam spat the word Dwarf like it was a bad taste in his mouth. He took a step towards Wizard Goldschmied but was quickly halted. The wizard held out a hand and tongue of flame sprang to life in his hand. The flame shot out in two directions and a wizard’s staff materialized in its wake. The staff was forged from Dwarven iron with a ruby fixed in the head. The blood red jewel was pointing right between Adam’s eyes causing a bead of sweat to fall down his face.
“I’m sorry,” said Wizard Goldschmied picking his ear with his free hand, “I don’t believe I heard you correctly. Would you mind repeating that for an old Dwarf?”
“I said,” Adam said past the lump in his throat, “Welcome to Beech, Wizard Goldschmied.”
“Why thank you, young man. That is awfully nice of you.”
There was a dull metallic clunk as he lowered the butt of his staff. With a wave of his hand he shooed Adam and the twins away. They were only too happy to leave.
“Nice boys,” Wizard Golschmied chuckled, “Friends of yours?”
The boys all shook their heads. The wizard looked each of them up and down with a curious look in his eyes. A smile played on the corner of his mouth.
“What are your names? And please, no ceremony. My family name may be Goldschmied but I am not a royal or noble. Just a simple wizard.”
“I am Isaac,” Isaac began, “and this is Warwick and Alastair. We are very pleased to meet you, Wizard Goldschmied.”
Wizard Goldschmied’s eyes scrutinized them and then his face broke into a wide grin.
“Please, no need to be so formal. My friends call me Ornulf.”
“Ornulf!” called a voice from across the market.
“You see?”  he chuckled.
A tall Elf dressed similarly to Ornulf came over. A black hawthorn staff with a green gem mounted on its head was clutched in his hand. He was clean shaven with his long black hair tied back in a ponytail. His face did not give any indication of how old he was but his green eyes spoke of centuries of experience.
“Ornulf, there you are,” said the Elf, “I lost track of you.”
“I was just talking to these fine gentlemen here, Liniel. May I introduce you to Masters Isaac, Alastair, and Warwick? It appears young Alastair here is a kinsman of yours?”
Alastair looked up and spoke.
“Only half your kinsman, Wizard Liniel,” he said respectfully, “I am a halfling.”
“Nonsense,” Liniel said disgusted by the word “halfling”, “you are as much an Elf as I am. I think all this breeding gibberish is just ridiculous. Whether you are half man or half goat you are still an Elf in my eyes.”
Alastair smiled and stood a little taller.
“Well, I don’t know about you boys,” said Ornulf, “but dinner is getting close and I have never missed a meal in my life. I will bid you goodnight for now. I have a feeling we shall be seeing one another again very soon.”
Warwick, Alastair, and Isaac all bowed awkwardly and took off towards the road out of town.
“What was that all about?” asked Liniel.
“I believe it is the reason we are here, Liniel,” Ornulf answered.
“Which one do you think is the potential?”
“I think that it is all three of them.”
Liniel rolled his eyes.
“You see a half Elf and you immediately think the First Prophecy. All we know for sure is that there is a potential somewhere in this fief. The chances that one of potentials is in this town are slim. The chances of all three having been born in the same town are not any better.”
“How often do you think I see half Elves?” Ornulf asked.
Liniel shot him a look that told him he knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Fine, one time,” Ornulf protested, “Am I not allowed to make a mistake?”
Liniel made a pathetic attempt at trying to look accusatory but he burst out laughing instead. Ornulf joined him and they began walking towards the inn they had elected to stay at.
“I don’t know about you,” said Ornulf, “but there is a cask of Algumez Mead in that inn of ours that has been calling out to me since we arrived last night. We should meet up with Magra and Caratacus share a draft or two.”

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 Isaac sat on a stool next to his father with a shearing knife in his hand. Together they sheared the sheep as Warwick and Alastair gathered up the wool into bales. They still had almost two hundred sheep to shear before they could go to the market. The sun was setting in the west as Isaac ran the knife across the sheep’s body with a rough scraping sound. His father stretched his bad leg out with a look of discomfort. His leg was missing midway up his calf and had been replaced with a wooden peg. The wound had healed years ago but the scar tissue still pained him at times.
 “Couple of more bales and we will be done for the day, boys,” said Isaac Senior, “Mrs. Mason has a lovely stew on the stove waiting for us when are done.”
 The boys cheered and the work sped up instantly. Isaac Senior smiled to himself. Nothing like the motivation of hot food to get the boys to finish up work quickly.
 “So,” he began in a light hearted tone, “Did you think that I wasn’t going to ask about the war wounds or did you assume I wouldn’t notice?”
 Isaac’s hand went to his swollen jaw while Warwick touched his split lip causing him to wince.
 “I have actually been meaning to ask about that,” said Alastair.
 “Fight at school,” Warwick mumbled.
 “Another? I hope you gave as good as you got.”
 Isaac Senior had noted the change in Warwick’s temperament. Until this year the boy would never have said a cross word about anyone. Now he was fighting every other week and from what he heard in town he was getting quite good at it. There was even a distinct physical change in the boy. Warwick was stocky for a thirteen year old boy. He possessed an inner strength that Isaac Senior had never seen before. There was even change happening in his son Isaac. Physically, he was still the gangly youth with the copper rimmed spectacles but something was different there too. Alastair looked more or less the same but even he was different somehow. Maybe the boys were growing up faster than he realized. He shook his head with a resigned smile and continued to shear the sheep.
 Once they were done, they all made their way into the kitchen and were welcomed by the pleasant aroma of Esmeralda’s stew. In a few minutes they were all washed and ready for dinner. Once they were all seated around the table, they started in on the stew. Alastair tore at the food ravenously like he hadn’t eaten in day. In all likelihood he probably hadn’t.
 “Alastair,” Esmeralda said, “It is dark out now and you are tired from the hard work you put in today. Why don’t you stay with us tonight?”
 Alastair looked up in surprise. Isaac Senior had already paid him more than he promised and now they were feeding him.
 “No, no, Mrs. Mason,” he protested, “You and Mr. Mason have done more than enough. I should just be on my way.”
 “Nonsense,” said Isaac Senior jovially, “You will stay the night or you forfeit your pay.”
 Alastair had always liked the Mason family. He had never really considered Isaac and Warwick his friends but he liked talking to them. They were the only children his own age who did not scorn or ridicule him. They were the only Men who did not treat him like dirt because of his half Elven lineage. Alastair had no family but the Masons had always been kind. There was always warm food and a cot by the fire for him whenever he worked for Isaac Senior.
 “You should have learned by now,” Warwick chuckled, “you will never win this argument.”
 Alastair smiled knowingly. Warwick was right, he never won this argument. It was nice to know that he would have a warm place to sleep tonight. He had a fire place in the run down house he lived in but it was horribly drafty. Isaac and Warwick had offered to help him fix the place up after school but he had refused saying Isaac Senior couldn’t spare them. Alastair had heard of the pride of Elves before and he definitely had it in spades.
 “Thank you,” he sighed, “but I will be leaving in the morning.”
 “You can leave with us when we go to school,” Isaac offered.
 Alastair smiled and nodded. Once they had finished clearing the table the boys went outside for the hour before bedtime. Isaac Senior put his feet up and lit up his clay pipe and smoked. Esmeralda looked out the window at the boys who were laughing and joking with each other.
 “I think it is time again for you to offer Alastair a place to stay permanently,” she said to her husband.
 “A lot of good it will do us,” Isaac laughed, “He had been refusing us since he was five.”
 “Then what if we use a different approach? What if you were to offer him a full time job as a farmhand? We pay him in room and board and he lives with us where we can keep an eye on him.”
 “It might work. That Elvish pride of his won’t allow him to take our charity and this way it won’t be charity. I will talk to him tomorrow when he comes back in the afternoon for more work. I knew I married you for more than your good looks.”
 Esmeralda crossed the room and kissed her husband.
 “I always knew you wanted more children,” she said holding him close, “You’re an old softie, Isaac Mason Senior.”
 After Isaac was born Esmeralda was never able to have children again. She was so sad for a very long and Isaac Senior had no idea what to do for her. When Warwick’s parents died and he came to live with them she livened up significantly. His uncle had refused to take him in out of sheer spite and anger. She now had two sons whom she loved very much. Now she was trying to adopt a third son under the pretense of taking him on as a hired hand. Alastair was a good boy and a great help on the farm. His Elvish side gave him a calming effect on the sheep. Elves were very close to nature and animals trusted them. Alastair had no aversion to eating meat but he could never bring himself to actually slaughter an animal. Isaac Senior liked the boy a lot and would be happy to bring him into his home. He looked up at his wife and smiled as she looked out at the boys.
 “Why do I get the feeling that my boys will not be with us for much longer,” Esmeralda sighed sadly.

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 “…And that is how the Elven King Orion was able to unite the five elven realms and create the Kingdom of Midoriel. Are there any questions?”
 Warwick sagged against his palm as he fought to stay awake. Professor Payne had been droning about the unification of the Elves in the most incredibly boring way. He looked over at Isaac who was diligently taking notes. Warwick rolled his eyes and tried to suppress a yawn. He failed and drew the attention of the teacher.
 “Are we boring you, Master Masters?” asked Professor Payne.
 Warwick was snapped out of his daze and met the professor’s eyes.
 “What? No, sir. I was listening.”
 “Very well then,” the professor retorted, “If you were being so attentive why don’t you tell us the terms of the treaty that brought the Darklight Realm into the Midoriel Kingdom. Thereby making it a fiefdom”
 Warwick cleared his throat noisily and made a show of readying himself to answer the question. He was about to give a completely wrong answer when an impromptu visitor entered the room.
 “Professor Payne,” said Headmaster Morgenstern, “I need you to assemble your class in the yard. The presence of all students between the ages of thirteen and fifteen has been requested by some very important guests.”
 “Yes, headmaster,” the professor answered and then turned to his students, “All right, children, please rise and form a line at the door.”
 All the boys and girls got up and did as they were told.
 “I wonder what this is all about?” said Isaac.
 “I don’t know,” Warwick responded, “but whatever it is must be really important to pull us out of such a riveting lecture.”
 The boys sniggered but were instantly silenced by a wrap on their heads with a yard stick.
 “Quiet there,” barked Professor Payne.
 The children were all marched out into the school yard and formed up. There fifty-six children between the ages of thirteen and fifteen all here. Warwick looked around and saw that there were also children from the town who did not attend school.  Most of the children who worked the farms or learned their father’s trade did not have time for school. School was expensive and most of the families in the town could not afford the tuition. Warwick, Isaac, and a few other children were lucky enough to be given scholarships for fathers who were heroes of the war. Isaac Senior had not wanted his son to attend but Esmeralda had insisted the boys become scholars. She wanted more for them than the life of sheep herders.
 From across the school yard, Isaac spotted Alastair. His white blonde hair stood out against the darker haired children. He was still dressed in rags but it looked like he tried to comb out his hair. Isaac waved at the half Elven boy. He then spotted Adam, Michael, and Brian who were sneering at Alastair and making threatening gestures.
 “Attention,” yelled the headmaster, “We have some very important guests in our school. I am honored to introduce Wizards Liniel, Hagvush, and Goldschmied and Prophet Quandrius of the Conjurers Stronghold in the city of Molborn in Greenleaf Fief in the Kingdom of Midoriel.”
 The four wizards filed out of the main building and stood side by side. Warwick, Isaac, and Alastair recognized the Elf and the Dwarf standing on either end of the line. The other two were unknown to them. One was of the race of Men and the other of the Goblin race. The Man was tall with grey streaked blonde hair. He had spectacles just like Isaac. His robes and hat were sky blue and his staff was carved from oak with a blue gem set in the top. The Goblin was short and squat. He had sparse wiry grey hair and large green eyes. The way he leaned on his hawthorn staff said he was very old.
 The Goblin stepped forward and spoke in a raspy voice.
 “Good morning, children. I am Wizard Magra Hagvush, Councilor for the Formation of Young Conjurers. Wizard Ornulf Goldschmied and Marion Liniel are two of the instructors at the Conjurers Stronghold. Prophet Caratacus Quandrius is The Stronghold’s recruiter. He foresees the birth of potential conjurers and then by the solving of complex astral calculation pinpoints the area where they can be found. I will now give the floor to Prophet Quandrius as he will explain the proceedings we are about to undertake.”
 Prophet Quandrius took a step forward and surveyed the crowd. In a voice that was both strong and full of wisdom he address the boys.
 “Today is a very special day,” he began, “Between thirteen and fifteen years ago three potential Conjurers were born in Borderland Fief in the Kingdom of Men. Astral calculations aren’t exactly the most accurate form of predicting these events. All we know is that there are three potentials and they are somewhere in this fief. It is possible that one of you might be one of the potentials we seek and it is also possible that none of you are. We have already been through half the cities in your fief and have not found one of them yet. I am now going to ask that the instructors please line you up in alphabetical order. We will start with the children who are not students. Give your names to the professors and they will line you up.”
 It took them a few minutes to line them up in the proper order and get their names down on paper. After they were all lined up, Prophet Quandrius produced a cloth wrapped object from within his robes. When he unwrapped it a large crystal with a dim pulsating green light at its center was revealed. He kept the cloth between his hand and the crystal as he spoke.
 “This is the Seeking Stone. It glows at the touch of a conjurer because it feeds on the magic that we wield. Observe.”
 The prophet placed a hand on the stone and a bright green light sprang to life at the heart of the crystal. When he took his hand away the light died away.
 “Each and every one of you will place a hand on the Seeking Stone. If it does not glow for you please step back and let the next child place his or her hand on it.”
 The children who weren’t students went up one by one to touch the stone. Each one eagerly touching the crystal with gleeful anticipation. Alastair went up to the Seeking Stone and reached out slowly to touch the stone.
 “What do you think Alastair’s chances of becoming a wizard are?” Warwick asked Isaac.
 As if answering his question, Alastair placed a hand on the stone. The stone shone brightly when his hand came in contact with the glass like surface. Isaac and Warwick were thunderstruck. Alastair, the town outcast, was a potential conjurer. Isaac looked up and saw the smile spread across Ornulf’s face at the Seeking Stone’s reaction. The Dwarf was very pleased he had been right about the half Elven boy. The only person more surprised than all of them was Alastair himself. The boy who had went through his young life believing that he was worthless had become very important by touching a crystal.
 “What is your name, boy?” asked Prophet Quandrius.
 “Alastair Gadriel, sir.”
 “Well, Master Gadriel, a great destiny awaits you. Please go stand with Wizard Goldschmied.”
 Warwick leaned over and whispered to Isaac.
 “Can you believe it?”
 Isaac said nothing. He just shook his head in utter disbelief.
 The rest of the children from the town filed past without a reaction from the crystal. It was then the professors began to move the students into a line. Isaac stood directly in front of Warwick in the line. It would be a while before they reached the Seeking Stone.
 “I don’t know why they are continuing to parade us in front of this stone,” Isaac complained, “I mean what are the odds of two potential conjurers being selected from the same town? As far as I know it has never happened before. If they are from the same fief they are miles apart.”
 “I don’t really care,” Warwick said with a shrug, “Whatever gets us out of class for a while is okay by me.”
 It was a while before Isaac got his turn to touch the stone. With a bored sigh he touched the stone. There was a shocked gasp from all present when his hand touched the stone. Green light shone at the heart of the stone. Prophet Quandrius’s eyes widened in shock.
 “Well, well,” he said just above a whisper, “This is indeed an interesting event.”
 He looked directly into Isaac’s eyes and spoke so all could hear.
 “What is your name, boy?”
 Isaac pushed his glasses up and cleared his throat.
 “Isaac,” he said and then added as an afterthought, “Isaac Mason.”
 “Well, then Master Mason,” the prophet said still a little in shock, “take your place next to Master Gadriel.”
 “Next!” bellowed Headmaster Morgenstern giving Warwick as hearty shove.
 Warwick stumbled forward and grabbed the first thing he could to support himself. It just happened to be the now glowing Seeking Stone.
 The reaction to the stone glowing for two children of the same village had been shock and awe. The reaction now was stunned silence. The room went dead quiet when Warwick caused the stone to glow. Even the other three wizards were taken aback by the proceedings. No one’s reaction compared to the outburst from the headmaster.
 “Impossible! There must be some mistake. Warwick is a troublemaker and an instigator. He gets into pointless fights with model students. He does not deserve this.”
 “Model students?” Warwick yelled, his hand still on the stone, “MODEL STUDENTS! You call Adam Ristheart and those twin oafs model students?”
 The green glow in the stone began to grow in intensity as his anger flared. When the Seeking Stone reached peak brightness, Warwick’s temper exploded into flames… literally. The crystal exploded into a column of flames sending shards outward like shrapnel. Prophet Quandrius was thrown backwards and hit the wall with shattering force. The flames gathered around Warwick casting a strange light around him. Headmaster Morgenstern cowered at the sight of the young boy wreathed in fire. Wizard Goldschmied extended a hand and the flames went out.
 “Well, now,” he huffed, “A whole day of firsts. The first time more than one potential has been discovered in a single place, the first time The Seeker Stone exploded due to the immense power of a potential, and the first time Caratacus has ever been knocked out by a potential with no prior experience.”
 “I am so sorry,” Warwick pleaded, “I had no idea what I was doing. I was just so angry.”
 “Exactly,” the headmaster yelled gaining his confidence back, “He has no control over his temper.”
 “Peace,” Ornulf said raising a hand, “Tempers can be curbed and used to fuel some very powerful spells.”
 The headmaster huffed once and then turned around and began shooing the students out of the school yard.
 “That one doesn’t like you,” Ornulf pointed out.
 “You’re wrong,” Warwick rebuffed, “He hates me.”
 “That can’t be right. What reason would he have to hate a thirteen year old boy?”
 “He has reason. I killed his sister.”
 Ornulf jumped at that statement.
 “His twin sister was my mother,” Warwick continued, “She died giving birth to me. He hated my father and stopped talking to my mother when she married him. My grandfather died long before I was born and my uncle became the head of the family. When my father asked my uncle to marry my mother he refused. The Morgensterns, my mother’s family, are the most important family in Beech and the surrounding area. My ancestor started the school that we are standing in. He believed my dad was not a suitable match. It led to a huge fight and they went off and got married anyway.”
 “He never forgave her for running away with my father and me for being the cause of her death. When I first met him and called him Uncle he struck me across the face. He said I was no family of his and stormed off. From what mother, that’s what I call Esmeralda Mason my foster mother, told me he and his sister were very close. Her death was very hard on him and the fact that I was the product of a relationship he didn’t approve of just made him hate me all the more.”
 Ornulf took a closer look at Headmaster Morgenstern. There were definitely similarities between him and Warwick. They had the same thick mass of brown hair and the same straight nose but where the headmaster’s eyes were hazel Warwick’s were a glacial blue.
 “Well then,” said Ornulf smoothing his beard, “Go join your friends, Master Masters. Today is the first day of the rest of your life.”
 “Ornulf,” said Warwick in that tone that children often take that paves the way for a myriad of questions.
 “Yes?”
 “What does this all mean? Why did this happen today? This can’t all be coincidence, can it?”
 “My dear boy,” said Ornulf, “I can’t answer any of those questions right now. We are all quite taken aback by the events of today. Now, run along and join your friends.”
 Warwick nodded and went over to where Isaac and Alastair were standing.
 “Ornulf,” called Liniel from behind him.
There was urgency in his voice prompting Ornulf to rush over there. Magra and Liniel were both kneeling by Caratacus’s unconscious form. Magra was kneeling by his head with his eyes closed and casting a spell. Liniel had his hands just above Caratacus’s ribs doing the same as Magra.
“How is he?” asked Ornulf.
Liniel finished his spell and then answered.
“His ribs are healed now. Four of them were broken and two more were cracked. He has a concussion but Magra is taking care of that. That’s not why I called you over, however. Listen.”
Ornulf knelt on the other side of Caratacus and saw that his lips were moving. He leaned in closer to hear what he was saying.
“Three children of Men: One born of love, One born of tragedy, and One born of Elves.
Three Conjurers: One for Prophecy, One for Battle, and One for Life
Three Heroes: Two for Light and One for Dark
When Three reveal themselves to the world
Darkness shall rise to swallow the Light
Three signs will herald the beginning of the end
The Travelers shall arrive to prepare the road
The Dragons shall return to pave it
The Hero shall rise to welcome The Darkness
And thus the End shall begin
For this to be stopped the Heroes must stand
Against the friend that betrays them
For if the Light fails and Darkness prevails
Life as we know it shall cease”
“That is The First Prophecy,” Ornulf gasped, “There’s more of it now. The original is only five lines long and has baffled Conjurers since the founding of the order.”
“He has been repeating it over and over since we started healing him,” said Magra, “I had Liniel commit it to memory.”
“I will be writing it down once we get back to the inn,” Liniel confirmed, “The Grand Conjurer must see addition for himself. Prophecy is rarely so specific. The original verses only spoke of three conjurers and that the Darkness would return to the world.”
“One guard on the Black Labyrinth may not be enough,” said Magra, “I need to get back to the Stronghold and talk to the Grand Conjurer about increasing the guard.”
“There is also the issue of the potentials,” said Ornulf, “The prophecy speaks of those boys being destined for greatness. Although one of their destinies lies along a path to the darkness.”
“Yes,” said Liniel ominously, “but which one will it be.”
“That is not for us to decide,” Magra pointed out, “Trying to alter prophecy based on our interpretation is like playing with Dwarven Blackpowder.”
Dwarven Blackpowder was an extremely volatile substance that launched projectiles at very high velocities.
“I agree,” Ornulf decided, “Best to keep a close eye on them.”
Liniel nodded in agreement. In an instant Caratacus’s eyes shot open and there was a sharp intake of breath as he sat up abruptly. His chest heaved in and out as he breathed heavily.
“Hello boys,” he gasped, “What did I miss?”

~~THE CONJURERS CHRONICLES

CHAPTER 2: FAREWELL TO BEECH

 Things had changed in the two days since the boys had been revealed as potentials.  Being a potential conjurer definitely had its perks. For one thing, Adam and his cronies left Warwick, Isaac, and Alastair alone. They were terrified of Warwick after he caused the Seeking Stone to explode and send Prophet Quandrius flying into a wall. Seeing that made them more cautious of Isaac and Alastair as well. The downside was that most other people felt the same. People were afraid of the boys even though none of them had any idea how to control their power. They were important now but it was a very lonely life. At least they had each other.
 Warwick finally had a reason for his unexplained fits of rage. Ornulf had told him that everyone’s power manifested in a different way. He said that his parents had suspected something was different about him when he turned thirteen. Ornulf was serving as his mentor for the time being until it was determined what kind of conjurer he was. Each of them had been assigned a temporary mentor. Isaac had been assigned to Prophet Quandrius and Alastair was assigned to Liniel. Wizard Hagvush, the Goblin who served as the Councilor for the Formation of Young Conjurers at The Conjurers Stronghold, had left on what Ornulf had described as “Stronghold business”.
 “When do the boys leave for The Conjurers Stronghold?” asked Isaac Senior.
 Ornulf had requested a meeting with Isaac and Warwick’s parents. Since Alastair had no parents the Masons served as his guardians. Esmeralda had invited the conjurers over to dinner but only the Dwarf had accepted. Liniel and Caratacus had arrangements to make before they left for the Kingdom of Algumez. Ornulf sat in the chair at the end of the table with his legs not quite touching the floor.
 “We will be leaving at the end of the week,” the wizard answered, “It will be a long journey and it will be dangerous.”
 Esmeralda gasped at the word dangerous.
 “What makes it so dangerous?” she asked in a constricted voice.
 “Young conjurers must pass The Trials to gain their first entrance into the Stronghold,” said Ornulf gravely, “I will not lie to you, Esmeralda, the test has the possibility of serious injury or death. I firmly believe that your boys are more than capable of passing The Trials.”
 “What do The Trials require of them?” asked Isaac Senior.
 “I am afraid that that is not something I can tell you. It is a well-guarded secret.”
 “Well then,” said Esmeralda, “Can you at least tell us about The Stronghold?”
 “Ah,” Ornulf sighed pleasantly as he leaned back in the chair, “That I can do.”
 He took a sip of ale from the mug in front of him and began his story.
 “The story begins eight thousand years ago. It was the year 3000 BRT1 and the world was plagued by a great evil. The world was slowly being swallowed up by a creature known only as The Darkness. It was neither Elf, Man, Dwarf, nor Goblin. The Darkness had never been seen by anyone but its most loyal followers, The Travelers. The Travelers were the last of a dying part of the elder races and it was assumed that The Darkness was one of them but no one ever knew for sure.”
 “Anyway, the other members of the elder races, The Sky People, The Delvers, and The Hobgoblins, resisted him but fell before The Darkness one by one. The Delvers disappeared underground never to be seen again. The Hobgoblins, in a move that was purely for self-preservation, joined with The Darkness. The Sky People were now the only thing standing between the dark and us, the New Races.”
“The Sky People were the ancestors of the Elves. They were extremely powerful in magic and fearsome warriors. The looked like Elves but they were more muscular and had enormous wings which was where their name came from. Unfortunately, their numbers began to dwindle and they knew that there was a good chance they would lose this fight. It was then that they had an idea. They decided to teach the new races to use Magic in order to fight The Darkness. It was exactly what was needed to turn the tide. This was the beginning of The Order of the Conjurers. The new races had talent for magic but they weren’t as powerful as The Sky People.”
“After defeating The Darkness and The Travelers they built a prison called The Black Labyrinth plus twelve crypts to hold them until the end of time. It held even when the Dragons tried to free them and cover the world in a new darkness. Dragons are conjurers who have delved so deeply into dark magic that it actually changes their physical form, covering them in scales and giving them distinctly reptilian eyes. The Sky People retreated into their mountain top refuge on the summit of Twelve Mile Mountain. They decided never again to take part in the affairs of the world again and destroyed the slopes making the mountain inaccessible on foot. They never again set foot in Calabra.”
“Now that the conjurers had been organized they wanted to teach the new generation. They decided to build a place for them to learn in the land that would one day belong to kingdom of my people in Algumez. The Dwarves designed and built it and made it into a highly defensible stronghold. Since that’s what it was, that’s what we decided to call it. And that is the story of The Conjurers Stronghold.”
“That was a fascinating story,” said Isaac.
“I was wondering something,” said Alastair, “If the order is called The Conjurers, Why are you, Magra, and Liniel called Wizards and Caratacus is called prophet?”
“That,” said Ornulf, “is because we are all different kinds of conjurers. There are five different kinds of Conjurers: Wizards, Sorcerers, Healers, Prophets, and Battle Mages. The most common are Wizards. Wizards are nothing special amongst The Conjurers. We are proficient in the use of all the magical elements but our power is limited. Next are the Sorcerers. Though more powerful than Wizards, Sorcerers are still limited in their power. Healers are exactly as their name implies. They are as powerful as Sorcerers but are highly skilled in medical magic. Prophets are right in between Wizards and Sorcerers in the level of power but they have a power unlike any other conjurer. They can alter their view of the flow of time to view the past or the future. This power allows them to see when potential conjurers will be born. Prophets are extremely rare but not as rare as Battle Mages. Battle Mages are the most powerful form of conjurer. They wield enormous power and are natural warriors. They are born tacticians and people use them as generals. Part of the point of the trials is to find out which of these categories do you belong in.”
Ornulf pulled out his pipe and with a wave of his hand the tobacco ignited. He took a long pull and blew out a large cloud of smoke. He then held out a hand and the smoke began to swirl around. It took the form of a hawk and flew around the table once before perching on the tea pot and then dissipating with a screech.
“That was just a simple demonstration of Pyromancy and Ventumancy, magical manipulation of fire and wind. You will learn to control magic as easily as that. There are seven disciplines: Pyromancy, Ventumancy, Terramancy, Aquamancy, Fulmamancy, Vitamancy, and Necromancy. ”
“Can you teach us anything right now?” asked Warwick.
Ornulf considered for a moment and then extended a hand towards the pitcher. He raised a hand and the water rose up out of the pitcher. It rushed over to him and it hovered over his hand in a coalescing sphere. It resemble a beautiful ball of crystal clear glass.
“Find the magic within yourself. It is part of your very being. Close your eyes and search deep within your soul and locate it.”
Warwick closed his eyes and turned his mind’s eye within himself. He felt a warm glow within himself that he knew immediately was the magic that Ornulf was talking about.
 “Aquamancy is the manipulation of water. It is not as easy as Terramancy, earth manipulation, but it is the first one we teach. Concentrate on the essence of the element. The primal magic of the element itself.  Now extend your magic out from yourself and merge it with the magic of the water. Twine them until they are one. Become the water and then let the water become you.”
 He pushed the warm glow away from himself until he felt it interact with something cool. Without being told he could tell it was the water. It felt refreshing like a cool bath in the heat of a summer day. He immersed himself in it.
 “What now?” he asked.
 Ornulf shrugged and then said one word.
 “Catch.”
 Ornulf threw the globe of water in an underhand toss. Warwick was taken off guard. He tried to throw his hands up to catch it but caught the full blast of the icy water right in the chest drenching him from head to toe.
 “That’s alright, Warwick,” Ornulf chuckled as he took a pull from his pipe, “It happens the first time.”
 “Really?” he asked wiping water out of his eyes.
 “Well not to me, anyway. I got it first try.”
 The room erupted into laughter at the Dwarf’s words.
 Ornulf left around ten o’clock in the evening. The boys had been asleep for an hour and Isaac Senior and Esmeralda were getting ready for bed when the knock came at the door.
 “Who is calling on us at this ungodly hour?” said Isaac Senior as he limped to the door.
 When he threw the door open, Headmaster Morgenstern was the last person he expected to find there. Anger swelled in Isaac Senior’s chest as he met his eyes.
 “What do you want, Aldous?” he asked venomously.
 “Who is there?” Esmeralda called from the bedroom.
 “Aldous Morgenstern,” Isaac Senior called over his shoulder, “Obviously he has more thoughts on Warwick’s unworthiness that he forgot to voice.”
  The headmaster opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. He wasn’t here to pick a fight with Isaac and Esmeralda. Esmeralda appeared in the doorway that connected the bedroom to the main room of the house. Upon seeing the headmaster she assumed a cold and indifferent stare as she leaned against the door jamb.
 “Good evening, Aldous,” she called.
 “Good evening, Esmeralda,” the headmaster responded politely.
 “I repeat my question,” Isaac Senior snarled, “What do you want, Aldous?”
 “I wanted…” Headmaster Morgenstern began just above a whisper. He gathered himself and spoke again, “I wanted to wish the boys good luck.”
 “The boys?”
 The headmaster’s lips tightened and he nodded.
 “Its late,” Isaac Senior spat, “they are asleep and not able to receive guests. Especially not you. You have treated Warwick atrociously since the day he was born. When his parents died you should have taken him in because he was your family. Adalain’s death was not his fault.”
 Anger flashed in Aldous’s eyes at the mention of his twin sister, but Isaac Senior’s tirade wasn’t finished.
 “You build yourself up as this paragon of honor for the boys and girls at your school to look up to. Headmaster Aldous Morgenstern, big important man on campus. You are a gutless worm who hated a defenseless baby boy for the simple fact of being born. He was not responsible for Adalain’s death, and you know it. You just had no one else to be angry at when she died. She defied your wishes and married the man she loved, rather than be part of a business arrangement like your mother.”
 “If you haven’t picked up on the message, let me spell it out for you: You are not going to see Warwick. That boy is as much my son as Isaac is. He became my son the day you rejected him. I am not going to allow you to see my son when all you have done since the day you met him was belittle and degrade him. So kindly leave my land or, so help me, I will beat you senseless, bad leg or no bad leg.”
 He added a stomp with the wooden peg that replaced the bottom half of his calf to make his point. Headmaster Morgenstern looked down at the ground and took a step back. Without another word, Isaac slammed the door right in his face. The warm night suddenly became very cold to Aldous. It was a long and lonely walk back to his house on the campus. He would probably never see his nephew again.

  ï·    ï·    ï·  

 “So this is your house is it?” asked Liniel in a sympathetic voice.
 He had insisted that Alastair take him to see his house. The dilapidated structure was in a sad state of disrepair. Liniel felt sorry for the half Elven boy. He grew up an orphan and was reviled by the people of his town for the simple fact that they did not approve of their relationship. He at least had the Masons but beyond that it was a sad and lonely life he had lived. The Elves were a proud race but this boy was a dim shadow of it. People had been making him feel worthless in the most formative years of his life and it had taken its toll.
 “Hey,” said Liniel, “Let’s try something. I am your temporary mentor after all. It is only fitting that I teach you something. Let’s go somewhere remote.”
 They walked to one of the fields that was lying fallow before planting season. It was dark outside but for what Liniel had in mind that would not be a problem. He gathered a few bundles of firewood and piled them into two small camp fires. With a snap of his fingers one of the piles of wood erupted in to flames.
 “Fire is different from the rest of the elements,” he began, “It is a living force with an insatiable appetite. In order for fire to live it needs three things: oxygen, heat, and fuel. The first two are all around us at any given time. The third comes in many forms. For example, wood is a source of fuel but as conjurers we carry our own fuel source within ourselves. Magic is a very powerful source of sustenance for the fire.”
 With a flourish a small flame ignited in the palm of his hand.
 “Find the magic within yourself and then turn up the heat to full blast. Once you have done so, concentrate on one of the logs. Don’t be concerned if you don’t get it right the first time.”
 Alastair concentrated on the power within himself and immediately he felt the heat rising. It was hot… too hot… way too hot. He needed to release it right now. He looked at the wood in front of him and then it happened. There was a massive explosion blasting both of them off their feet. The column of flames rose to at least thirty feet. Charred wood and embers flew out in all directions. The scorched ground was black now and there was a small crater in the tilled earth. Alastair raised himself up on his elbows and looked over at Liniel’s prostrate form.  Liniel shook his head and stood up a little shaken.
 “Wow,” he gasped, “When I first tried my hand at Pyromancy, I was barely able to light a candle. You just performed a feat beyond that of a novice conjurer and you aren’t even that. It took me two years to do what you just did and even then it wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as that.”
 Alastair stood up. He had never excelled at anything in his life. He held out a palm and let the heat build up inside himself again. He did not let it build up to the level it had last time. He released it into his palm and a small tongue of flame popped up at the center of his palm.
 “Amazing,” Liniel laughed, “The level of control you are exhibiting take some people years to master. Let’s see what you can do with Terramancy.”
 He held a hand over the ground and a stone jumped up into his hand.
 “Merge the magic in yourself with the magic in the earth and then levitate it.”
 Alastair concentrated. The rock wobbled up slowly and then fell. He concentrated again and the stone rose again slightly. Perspiration beaded on his forehead with the effort.
 “Interesting,” Liniel mused, “I wonder…”
 “What?” asked Alastair.
 “Nothing, just a thought. I will have some research to do when I get to The Stronghold though. I think that that is enough for today. We don’t want to scare anyone else more than we probably already have with that explosion.”
 Alastair laughed. This was all so overwhelming.
 “I will see you in the morning,” said Liniel, “We will be leaving in the afternoon. I suggest that you get some sleep. It is a long journey to Algumez.”
 Liniel waved a hand over the fire he had lit and reduced it to a dark plume of smoke. Alastair walked back to his house. The whole time he had been walking he got the feeling that he was being followed. When he arrived at the door something moved in his peripheral vision. He turned to look and saw a dark figure. It was across the street so he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he was looking at. It looked like a tall thin man dressed all in black. Bright black eyes looked out from under long black hair. Once again, it was dark and the figure was far away so Alastair was never sure if he saw what he thought he saw. He thought he saw that the man had no mouth…
 “Hey, halfling!” yelled someone from across the street.
 Alastair spun around and saw Adam Ristheart standing there with the twins, Michael and Brian Felding. The three of them were holding makeshift clubs in their hands. Alastair looked around for someone to help him but there was no one there. Even the strange figure he saw was gone. A strange thought occurred to him. Had it ever actually been there?
 “I was talking to you, halfling,” Adam repeated, “You see in civilized society, trash like you answers when your betters speak to you.”
 Alastair was going to respond how he always did; lowering his eyes and apologizing. He had lived his whole life feeling like he was inferior but now things were different. He was no longer going to let himself be tormented by these boys.
 “If you value your lives you will apologize for that,” said Alastair, a little surprised by the confidence in his voice.
 Adam was surprised by the answer. Alastair had always been so submissive.
 “What did you say?” asked Michael.
 “Yeah,” said his brother, “Who do you think you are, halfling?”
 Alastair turned his attention inwards and found the magic within himself. He felt the heat of it rising slowly as he concentrated on the wooden clubs. The wind blew his platinum blonde hair back away from his face.
 “For years I have endured your torment,” he said taking a step forward, “You have called me “halfling”, degraded me, beat me, and made me feel altogether worthless. All this time the power to make you kneel before me has always been inside me. I will one day become the most powerful conjurer Calabra has ever seen. I will surpass every Man, Elf, Dwarf, and Goblin that has ever lived. I will achieve all this and more for all to see… except for you.”
 His hand shot up and he released the power burning within him. He had only meant to set the clubs on fire. The last thing he said was only meant to scare them. Instead of catching fire, the clubs erupted into a roaring inferno. The three bullies screamed as burning splinters dug into their skin and their clothes caught fire. Alastair watched in horror as they burned. The acrid smell of burning flesh and hair filled the air. The fire had burned intensely and killed them fairly quickly. They fell to the ground, burned beyond recognition.
 Alastair fell to his knees. If the bodies were ever found he would be executed for murder. All hope of becoming a conjurer, however short lived it had been, would be gone. On the other hand, what did he care? They were here to kill him. They were jealous of him and now they had come to make sure that he would never have the opportunity. Anger burned in his chest threatening to burn him from the inside out. He realized it was not anger but the magic stirring inside him again. His mind raced as he calmed down trying to think of his next move. An idea formed in his mind as he looked across the street and saw the local inn.

  ï·    ï·    ï·  

 “Good afternoon everyone,” Mayor Fredrick Holcomb yelled addressing the gathered crowd, “We are here today wish the best of luck to three of our residents who are moving on to the next great chapter in their lives. Let us have a round of applause for our youngsters: Isaac Mason, Warwick Masters, and Alastair Gadriel. May they go on to do great things and make us all very proud.”
 The townspeople of Beech all clapped for the boys standing on the grandstand. Esmeralda Mason had made sure that the boys were well dressed for the occasion. Despite Alastair’s protests, she procured a very nice set of clothes for him. He would have been perfectly content to wear his rags but she would not hear of it. Isaac and Warwick were dressed in their best clothes at their mother’s insistence.
 “I am told by our esteemed guests that the birth of three conjurers in the same town is something that has never happened in recorded history. Fate has seen fit to choose our little corner of the world to bring forth a phenomenon that none of the four races has ever seen. We are honored to have been chosen for such an incredible and momentous occasion.”
 “He says it like he birthed us himself for this express purpose,” Warwick whispered to his friends.
 Isaac suppressed a chuckle.
 “In lieu of this momentous occasion, on this the fourth day of Hyperios, in the year 5166 RT, I declare today, a holiday. There will be no school or work until tomorrow morning. So, without further ado, I wish our young friends good bye and good fortune.”
 The clapping resumed. The three boys bowed awkwardly and then walked off the grandstand to join their mentors. As they stood there, they overheard a conversation between a few adults standing nearby.
 “Broke into Jake’s Inn they did,” said one of them, “They got into his wine cellar and stole a cask of rum. They built themselves a fire out in one of the fallow fields and then they caught fire. Them boys must have been drinkin heavily to catch fire like that. They was burned so badly they had to check all the houses to find out which boys was out of bed last night.”
 “Who was they?” asked another.
 “It was that Ristheart boy and them Felding twins. Burnt beyond recognizing and dead as doornails.”
 Warwick stiffened and looked at Isaac and Alastair.
 “Adam and the twins are dead?” he asked of no one in particular.
 Isaac’s face was white with shock. Alastair looked like he was going to be sick.
 “I can’t believe it,” Isaac whispered.
 “Why?” asked Alastair venomously, “It’s not like they didn’t deserve it.”
 “They were prats,” Warwick admonished, “but no one deserves to die like that.”
 “Easy for you to say,” the half Elven boy spat, “You only ever saw them at school. I had to deal with them every time they saw me in the streets. They often sought me out and hurt me both physically and mentally. The only thing I feel bad about is that I didn’t set them on fire myself.”
 Warwick and Isaac stared at him dumbfounded. The three mentors whirled around upon hearing what he said.
 “Alastair,” Liniel roared, “Never say something like that again! The most precious thing in this world is life. Wishing death upon someone is a vile and petty thing. A conjurer neither seeks nor wants revenge. Taking a life, unless done as a last resort, is the highest of all crimes.”
 Alastair readied a retort but then calmed down. He took a deep breath and then released it.
 “I offer my sincerest apologies. My anger got the better of me.”
 He then offered a shallow bow in supplication. Liniel smoothed his long black hair and the front of his robes.
 “There is nothing to forgive, Alastair. You are young and very much entitled to your anger given your life. Just remember that even the lives of three bullies are precious.”
 Alastair nodded solemnly.
 “Alright enough of that,” Ornulf chuckled trying to lighten the mood, “Get yourselves to the town limits. The Masons are waiting for you at the town limits. Get over there and say your good byes. It might be years before you see them again.”
 The boys needed no second bidding. They ran down the main street to go meet Esmeralda and Isaac Senior. Caratacus, Ornulf, and Liniel walked behind and soon lost sight of them.
 “So the dead boys burned?” asked Caratacus.
 “That’s what I heard,” Ornulf answered.
 “Bit of a coincidence,” the prophet mused, “The boys who tormented the half Elf just happen to burn to death the night that he displays extra ordinary ability in Pyromancy.”
 “You can’t seriously think that he did it,” Liniel protested, “The boy harbors a lot of anger and resentment in his heart but to suggest that he is capable of murder is a bit extreme.”
 “The prophecy says,” the Dwarf began, “Three Heroes: Two for light and One for Dark. Is it so far off the mark to consider? The proximity of the two events is suspect, Liniel.”
 The Elf raised his eyes to the sky in frustration.
 “That boy is submissive in nature. The possibility of him even doing well in his studies at The Stronghold is not guaranteed because of it. To think that he killed those boys in that manner is just ridiculous.”
 Liniel’s face indicated that the discussion was over. The other two respected their comrade’s wishes and dropped the matter.
 Warwick, Alastair, and Isaac arrived at Beech’s outer limits and found the Masons waiting for them. Esmeralda was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. Isaac Senior leaned on his crutch and beamed with pride. Esmeralda pulled the three boys into her arms and sobbed openly.
 “Alright, Esmeralda, that’s enough,” Isaac Senior chuckled as he rolled his eyes, “You’ll drown the boys before they ever get to the stronghold if you carry on like that.”
 Esmeralda stared daggers at her husband.
 “Please be careful, boys,” she said, “Come back to me in one piece. I swear if one of you dies I will have one of those wizards resurrect you so I can kill you myself.”
 “That seems extremely counterproductive,” said Caratacus coming up the road with Liniel and Ornulf.
 Isaac Senior hobbled over on his crutch to shake hands with the prophet and the two wizards.
 “Gentlemen,” he said by way of greeting.
 “Have you said your good byes?” asked Caratacus, “We should be on our way shortly.”
 Isaac Senior nodded and went to Warwick and Alastair.
 “Alastair,” he began, “I have appreciated having you around. You are a good kid. You are honest and hardworking, both traits that are hard to find in children your age. Although I have never had the honor of calling you my son, I have had the pleasure of calling you friend.”
 “Thank you, Mr. Mason. You have been kind to me over the years. I will never forget that.”
 He held out a hand to Alastair and he shook his hand. He then placed his hands on Warwick’s shoulders and spoke to his foster son.
 “Warwick, I knew your parents well. They were good friends of your foster mother and I. When they died, we didn’t hesitate to take you in. I am sure that were Adalain and Gregory still alive they would be just as proud of you as we are, maybe even more so. Take care of yourself and don’t get yourself into too much trouble. You have potential to be a great man one day. I know you will make us all very proud.”
 He pulled Warwick into his arms and hugged him tightly to his chest. Warwick hugged him back just as tightly. They pulled away from each other and Isaac Senior smiled at his foster son.
 “Good bye, father.”
 “Good bye, son”
 Isaac Senior went to his son and pulled him into a tight embrace.
 “Isaac,” he said, “I have never been prouder of you than I am now. You are going to be a great wizard. You are the smartest person I know and you will go on to do great things. The Masons were never a family of any great standings. We have been farmers for several generations. I don’t know what we were before that but you will be the first Mason to make something of himself. You will be a wizard, Isaac Mason Junior, and you will be the greatest wizard Calabra has ever seen. Make the Mason name mean something, son.”
 Isaac puffed his chest out slightly and spoke.
 “I will, dad. The name Mason will be remembered for a thousand years.”
 Isaac Senior smiled proudly at his son and stepped away. Esmeralda pulled her son close and kissed him on the forehead. Together Isaac Senior and his wife walked down the road and made their way towards the farm. Ornulf walked up to the boys and spoke.
 “Come,” he ordered, “We must be off. There is a farm six miles out of town that is caring for our mounts. From there we ride for Caspar’s Ford in Asphodel Fief.”
 “Why are we going to Caspar’s Ford?” asked Alastair.
 “You are not the only potentials we found this year,” said Caratacus, “There are two in the Dwarven Kingdom of Algumez and two in the Goblin Kingdom of Bigradash. We agreed to meet in Caspar’s Ford in a week before we ride for The Conjurers Stronghold. Now, let’s get started. If we keep up a good pace we should be there in a few hours.”
 It actually took them four hours to reach the stable. Five horses and a small barrel chested pony waited there for them. Liniel paid the groom for their care and they were on their way with an hour and a half of daylight left. As they road down the road to Asphodel Fief a mysterious figure watched them from the crest of a hill to the south. A ragged black cape was drapped around its slender body. Long stringy black hair fell around its pale face. Coal black eyes looked out from the curtain hair and watched the six riders galloping down the road. Where its mouth should have been there was nothing. Smooth unbroken flesh lay between its nose and chin. The Traveler was watching.

             
1 Time is split between two eras. There is Recorded Time (RT) which begins when the Congress of Calabra was formed. All time preceding that is considered Before Recorded Time (BRT). RT has the years passing in ascending order. BRT starts before 1 RT and then works backwards from there. It works exactly like BC and AD or (if you prefer) CE and BCE. The year that The Conjurers Chronicles takes place in is the year 5166.